LIFE’S TWISTS AND TURNS

Reading this blog over a good few times, it is a bit too much about me but it does illustrate just how chance and other influences can change the direction of one’s life and introduce new perspectives and experiences and make new friends.

I was sixteen when I joined Carinus Nursing College and lived in the nurses’s quarters for a while. One day I was persuaded to go on a blind date. The young man belonged to a sailing family and I was immediately hooked. I remember us sailing to Saldanha Bay on the West coast of South Africa and coming back in thick fog. The Suez crises was on with the canal closed and Table Bay was full of ships having to take the Cape Route. Foghorns blared all around us in the ghostly fog as we weaved our way through the huge ships.

I left nursing, as I was not suited to it. My mother was keen to get me away from my young man so sent me to the UK to join my  father who was tasked with changing the  South African railways from steam to diesel and was inspecting the diesel engines being built in the UK. I sailed on a Union Castle Liner docking at Southampton. From there I travelled with my father to Scotland then down to Manchester and began to look for a job. Seeing an advertisement for crew on a yacht heading for South America I had a choice to either take up the offer or join British European Airways.

I hitched a lift on the back of a Harley Davidson and we rode from Manchester to Chichester where I was to meet the skipper of the yacht. It was the 1st of May and England had her best dress on, with fields of blue bells and daffodils. I took an instant dislike to the skipper of the yacht so returned to become part of the second intake of air hostesses for British European Airways.

I fell in love with travel and learnt a lot about independence during that time. Returning to South Africa after two years I found a job, dated my young man again but that alas, did not last and I met my future husband who was also a yachtsman.

Two babies later, Susan and then Michael, my marriage was in trouble and I took up riding at a nearby stable. Here came the biggest twist of my life. Jill Perks owned the riding school. She was an interesting person. She was convinced that there were diamonds in the Cape Flats and every riding pupil had to first help to dig the potential diamond mine before mounting their horse! Needless to say we never found diamonds!

Jill rode an enormous thoroughbred called Fra Diavolo. Fra Diovolo (Brother Devil) otherwise known as Michele Pezza was a guerrilla leader who resisted the French occupation of Naples in 1771. He featured in a lot of folk lore and Alexander Dumas included him in a few of his books. Fra Diovolo sauce is a fiery tomato based sauce.

Jill was a tiny woman and looked like a pimple on the huge horse who had a wonderful temperament and was not in the least bit like his namesake. I really took to riding and Jill bought me a little thoroughbred mare who had everything wrong with her!

One day Jill was trying to teach me to jump when two men arrived and stood watching as I fell off again and again. Jill introduced Trevor Botten and his friend Alan Higgins and we all had tea. Trevor asked me if I really wanted to learn to ride. My answer was yes. “Be at Muizenberg beach tomorrow morning at six and I will teach you to really ride!”

Jill had a dream of becoming a playwright. She wrote a play and roped me and my friend Bobby in as the leading lady and man. Bobby was over 6 ft tall and I only 5ft 4. She produced the play at the Masque Theatre main road Muizenberg and it ran for a week. That was my one and only attempt at treading the boards!

Jill finally met Rosalie van der Gught, a lecturer at the University of Cape Town. Rosalie was a brilliant teacher and taught Jill who left her husband and took up with a puppeteer. From there she wrote plays and when she died the Cape Times newspaper devoted a half page to her obituary about her success as a playwright.

But I digress. The morning that I arrived at Muizenber was brisk with the Indian Ocean waves pounding upon the hard sand. Racehorses circled waiting for their riders and I was shown how to get a leg up while a beautiful liver chestnut gelding called Quatre Bra stood obediently. For the next two weeks I walked him around the ring being taught how to pull up my irons (stirrups), crouch like a jockey until my thighs ached, and hold the reins as they should be held.

Finally the day came when I was allowed to trot down the sand track next to a well known jockey in that jockey position while he slapped my back with his stick and told me to get down lower! Then I was allowed to canter and from there on I progressed to riding very good horses and becoming part of the famous Beverley Stables crew. I rode gallops on the turf at Kenilworth and one stands out in my memory.

Trevor had three top class sprinters in his stable and one morning he decided that they would gallop together over six furlongs at Kenilworth racecourse. The horses were Rumba Rage by Drum Beat, a stallion that had been the fastest horse in the world, Eastertide sired by a prolific sprinting stallion, Royal Pardon and Benzol whose sire Silver Tor was not in the Jockey Club stud books but very fast. He put two top jockeys, Stanley Amos and Johnny Cawcutt up on Benzol and Rumba Rage, me on Eastertide. These horses were so fast I hardly took a breath. Trevor very cunningly had me as the lightest weight win the gallop! What a thrill!

My life as I grew ever more passionate about thoroughbreds and I attended the yearling sales, learnt how to judge a good horse and finally married Trevor and had TJ, my youngest son. I often joke with TJ that he exists because I fell off a horse!

Trevor introduced me to Jenny, who was destined to be a friend until the day she died some time ago. Jenny was a vibrant redhead and she and her husband were looking for a house to rent. They had three children. Her husband, Stew as we called him had been a Flight lieutenant in the Royal Air Force. I found them a house at Zeekoe (hippopotamus) Vlei (shallow lake) where I lived and Stew taught me how to cook duck le orange.  Jenny and I joined the Cape Hunt and Polo Club and rode to hounds together.

One day Jenny asked me to come and exercise the Cape Hunt and Polo Club hounds up on Sir Lowry’s pass. I fell off and was obviously badly injured. Jenny rode back to the stables returning with a little yellow Volkswagen and a bottle of whisky. She made me gulp  some and split it over me. Jenny told me to keep sipping until we reached Groote Schuur hospital. The young intern who saw us there shook his head and pinched his nose at the smell of whisky, obviously taking me to be a drunk. “How did this happen?” he asked Jenny. “Well you see, we were chasing men in the mountains and Molly got so excited that she fell off!” The intern burst out laughing and sent me off for x-rays. He took one look at the film and told me to go home, lie flat on my back for three months and my broken pelvis would eventually heal!

By chance I met Peter who was editor of the YOU magazine. Peter had a dream of living in the Greek islands and drinking red wine. However he found time to read my first manuscript of July Fever that I typed on an old Imperial typewriter. He remarked. “You have a story here. Go and write it again.” Later he asked me if I had ever had sex. “Of Course, I have children!” “Well write it like it IS!”  He made me rewrite the book five times until he was satisfied! The novel was a great success and made book of the month for a Durban newspaper at the July of 1980.

Eventually I gave up the horses and began to sell houses. I decided that I really wanted to learn to sail deep sea yachts and joined Rod’s sailing academy in Simonstown. Rod had crewed on one of the round the world yachts and was a great seaman. We got on well and he asked me to partner him in the purchase of a Miura, a 30 odd foot yacht built by Van der Stadt especially for Cape waters.

Michael turned eighteen and came into his inheritance. He was keen on hitching as crew on yachts around the Caribbean eventually ending up at Antigua for the famous racing week there. He asked me to come with him so I suggested we sail arou nd the British Virgin Islands after which he could find a berth, hopping from island to island until he got to Antigua and I would fly home. We found an outfit that rented bare boats but this required me to get my Skipper’s ticket. I had a practical test by the harbour master in Simonstown on a blustery day while still in crutches and passed thanks to Rod’s coaching. Mick and I had a great time sailing around the Islands and when I thought we had run out of luck we met a French couple on their old Norwegian trawler bound for Bermuda. We were invited for a drink and I still remember the taste of the wonderful rose wine they offered. They happily took Mick with them and he worked his way to Antigua.

I did very well at selling houses and moved back to Zeekoe Vlei. One day a family bought the house opposite. Ever gregarious, I went over to meet them and that changed my friend Annie’s life. Amazingly we are still friends today!

Annie was a housewife with four children. She could not drive and was housebound when her husband was out to work. Annie had the most infectious laugh and I decided to teach her to drive. The independence this brought her changed her life.  I was instrumental at encouraging her to become an Estate Agent and Annie was off on a journey of her own.

Annie’s boys sailed dinghy’s at Zeekoe Vlei yacht club and eventually David became my tactician when I raced the Miura on Wednesday afternoons at Royal Cape Yacht Club. Annie turned out to be a natural business woman, TJ and her youngest, Lucy were great friends. Rod got together a scratch crew to hire a class yacht at Cowes with the aim of sailing there during Cowes week. I excitedly put my name down. Rod then suggested that he and I and his girlfriend have as sailing holiday around the Greek islands afterwards. I asked Annie if Lucy could come and I would take Lucy and TJ with us. She agreed and TJ still says that was the best holiday of his life!

Rod had hired a 32 foot class yacht. The owner was on board with us and Deca navigation had just come out enabling us to tack very close to the shore. A highlight was seeing the Queen Mary make her way through all these pesky little yachts on her way to the Atlantic. We had a shakedown cruise across to France then returned to Cowes and won the first race in our class!

Then we went off on our flotilla holiday. As Rod was so experienced, we were allowed to do our own thing. We sailed from island to island, the two children loving every  minute of it after which they went home and I flew to Ireland to visit the stud farms there and to see Goffs the auctioneering house.

Another chance meeting led to a friendship that was to last until this day just as Annie’s has. I decided to take TJ, then seven, to ski in Austria. The tour leader was Joy, together with her husband Colin. Colin got frostbite on his finger and was banned from going onto the slopes again. I came back early one day and knocked on Joy’s door to hear Colin’s voice inviting me in. I entered to find him lying in a hot bath with a beer to hand. He hastily covered up the necessary parts and bade me join him with a glass of wine.

I sat on the loo and we had a jolly chat with a few good laughs. Enter Joy to find her husband with one of her tour group! We have chuckled about it ever since and are still the best of friends. Tragedy also struck her after the birth of her two sons when eventually Colin succumbed to the blood disorder that he had.

Of course Susan, Mick (Michael) and years later, TJ all rode. Mick joined the equine division when he had to do his army stint, Susan married a thoroughbred stud master and TJ played polocrosse.

Hard times came and I moved to Philadelphia, very near Atlantis, the town erected by the government for the coloured community, part of their separate development policy. We stayed on a small holding in a little wooden cottage that TJ and I built. He was now at school at Sacs and I was battling to find work. I had some remaining copies of July Fever and took one to a woman I had heard of preparing yearlings for the racing stables. I desperately needed fuel for my little car to take him to school the next day.

A large woman was lunging a yearling. The yearling could not understand what was required of him and kept stopping or bucking or turning to her with a puzzled look. Diz, as I learnt was her name, would break into swearing that would make a sailor blush. She would then lift her head to the sky and apologize to the Lord. “I promise I won’t do it again Lord.” Within minutes the swearing would commence again.

She finished with the yearling and invited me in. I asked her if she would like to buy the book. Diz told me later that she was just as broke as I was and had a bit of cash to buy cigarettes but thought I needed the money more than she did! We became friends and one day she found an advertisement for coal fired Dover Stoves. She bought one for each of us and many a good time was had around my stove with a pot of soup and a jug of wine. Our friendship grew and we had great times together, the stories are too long to tell here but will appear in other blogs from time to time.

Another friend at that time was June Washington. We cooked many a family meal together and when I decided to answer an advertisement for a trip to Mozambique she accompanied me. That is a story on its own but it led to meeting my friend Nic Tass of Turtle Cove in Tofo who has turned out to be a friend for life together with his wife Nelia. More of that in another blog too.

Michael returned from a stint in London after attaining his Accountant’s degree. He decided to buy me a house and we picked Langebaan also on the West Coast but nearer to Cape Town. Here I met Denis Lees and began to take painting lessons with him.

Denis and his wife Laura had a wonderful house with the studio on top at Jakopsbaai (Jacobs Bay). Laura and I cooked many a good meal in their roomy kitchen with glasses of wine to hand. When I moved to Joburg they moved to Taiwan where they stayed for five years teaching English. Denis recently popped up on facebook looking for me. I learnt he was living in Reitz and I travelled down there, only a two and a half hour journey for three days of tuition. He is a wonderful teacher. He has moved on to Balito Bay so I will go and see him there in the new year.

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Molly, Dennis, and Eleanor

Susan and I started a little magazine for the West Coast called Out and About on the West Coast. This led to me travelling in South Africa to begin with and we began to take her four children on adventures. When I ventured into Botswana, Namibia and Zambia we produced guidebooks for the three countries. Susan taught herself graphic art and did all the advertisements that I sold. I did most of the travelling and selling but she joined me at times and we had exceptional times together. We marketed the books at the World Travel Fair in London, ITB in Berlin and at the convention centre in Durban.

Diz was instrumental in introducing me to Joy Bianchi. Joy was born on the Isle of Wight and arrived in Africa when she was seventeen. Her brother was working on the copper mines in Ndola in then Northern Rhodesia now Zambia. She married charming Con Bianchi, he with twinkling bedroom eyes and a great dancer. In next to no time she was living in the bush with four children! She had met Diz there when she too was on the copper belt with two children, Sue and Dori. There was a thriving horse community there.

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Diz somewhere on the Delta

I met Dori when she joined Diz in Philadelphia with her little daughter Jordan. Sue met her husband, a vet, there and the two immigrated to Australia where they have a chain of veterinary surgeries and two now grown up daughters.

Joy lived in a large old farmhouse in Gaborone. Her daughter Eileen had married an air force technician who had a terrible accident while on duty in Walvis Bay in Namibia. He became a paraplegic and Joy and Con dedicated their lives to helping the family and the two boys Glen and Ryan. Con built a riding stable for Eileen to teach riding and have an income. The boys became friends with Susan’s children especially when Susan moved to Maun in Botswana. Tragically Glen was electrocuted while working in a fuel from plants factory during his grandfather’s final days.

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Joy and I enjoying a glass of wine on the West Coast

Tj had been working in London and let me know that he was returning overland. Could I meet him at Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe? I did and he greeted me. “My Mother I presume?” Tj was keen to go into the Okavango Delta and so was I. Accordingly we travelled to Maun where I met Tiaan Theron, one of the best guides in Botswana. Tiaan took us to the mokoro station in Moremi where we met our poler who took us into the delta.

The first night it rained cats and dogs. Lions roared! Elephants screamed. We shivered in our little tent but the next day the heat was back. Our poler turned out to be an excellent guide and one morning very early we crept up to within twenty feet of a feeding elephant. The poler kept testing the wind with his licked finger and after a few minutes we retreated. We were captivated by this wilderness and when Tiaan picked us up and joined us for a beer I asked him if he would take my grandchildren into the delta. “Provided they know I am boss and they listen to me!” Many adventures and years later we are still friends.

One year Tiaan phoned me and said he had a safari company for sale. Mick and I persuaded Susan who was then living with me in Langebaan during a difficult divorce to take up the offer. Mick put up the money and Susan and her kids lived in Maun for many a year.

Over the years whenever I went to Botswana I stayed with Joy and we had a very deep friendship. Joy was a top dressage judge in Gaborone so we had horses in common. However finances caught up with Joy during her retirement and she finally relocated to the UK. Her dog Thebe, a harlequin Great Dane, spent the rest of her life with Joy’s one son Ricky who lives in Kleinsee with Susan. Thebe has just recently died. Very sad, as she saved my life twice when under attack at Joy’s house outside Gaborone.

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Michelle, Ryan and Jacques fishing in the Limpopo

I cannot talk of Botswana without mentioning Norma Watson and her husband who owned Le Roo La Tau at the time. The name means the footsteps of the lion. We were always welcome there and Steve, their guide, took us on some very memorable safaris. Norma was a patron of the lovely Khama Reserve that is a sanctuary for breeding rhinos.

Eventually Susan and I were doing books for Namibia and Zambia as well. We first went into Zambia when a man in rags with an AK47 under a tree was the road block. How things have changed. Our books became so popular that we were ultimately hosted by top safari outfits such as Robin Pope Safaris and Shenton Safaris as well as Norman Carr Safaris.

Jenny came with me on a walking safari with Robin Pope safaris at Mupamadzi river in the remote north west of the park. One morning we came back very hot and Jenny told our guide that we were going to take a skinny dip in the shallow river. He obligingly cleared thee camp of staff and Jen and I wallowed with bums to the sky cooling off! Jo Pope told us that the other guests had so enjoyed our company that we were welcome any time. Susan I stayed at Nsefu on several occasions.

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Robin Pope Safaris

I stayed with Derek Shenton at Mwambo and Kaingo camp often. One night he took me on a night drive and we heard a peculiar mewing sound coming from a lioness. Sometime after I was in Kutze Reserve in Botswana, where there were very curious lions and I heard the same noise. We got into our vehicles immediately and sure enough the pride came walking through.

Time moved on and the road was a long one from Langebaan to Mozambique and Botswana. Mick had married Mandy and lived in Johannesburg as did TJ, married to Maud. Mick had one daughter with his first wife Marie, Meg currently working in London. Mandy had two girls who readily adopted me as a granny. Kate is an accountant and living here while her sister Sarah is living with her father in New Zealand. TJ and Maud were also living in Johannesburg and both Mick and I thought it would be better to move up here. Mick sold the Langebaan house and bought the cottage that I now have in a retirement village.

Joy and her one son live here as does her cousin Gail who has also been a friend for all the years I have known Joy. The other son lives in Cape Town and has a young son. She has recently met a life partner and they travel into Kruger National Park frequently also spending weekends away  at the little known places around the country.

I have made new friends here, belong to Four Seasons Art studio under Sue Prior who has proved to be another friend. The other artists come from all walks of life and were very supportive during my time in hospital for the new hip replacement bringing me a marvelous hamper that also contained goodies for Jack my little dachshund.

I am travelling again. Just come back from Nelspruit and Kruger Park and will be off to see Susan in September where she lives at Kleinsee on the West coast then off to Mozambique for the Christmas holidays. Who knows where next? Probably Balito Bay near Durban for more art lessons from Denis. See him on the internet under Denis Lees and please check in to Four Seasons Studio as well. My adventures in these countries are often featured in the novels I write and the blogs I get out  every two weeks or so.

OF STORMS AND FAREWELLS

A good few weeks ago after I came out of hospital yet again we had a severe Highveld storm and lightning cracked outside my window while I cowered in bed with my little Dachshund, Jack.

On March 13th I had a right hip replacement at Helen Joseph Hospital, a government teaching hospital. Here I have to tell my South African readers that the surgeon was Professor Jacobs. He and his team were fantastic and the hip is charging along well. The less said about the nursing the better.

I had just been to Xray department and was being pushed up a long corridor with an incline by a really light framed little nurse when along came Dr. Grey, Prof Jacobs’s second in command in the theatre. He took the wheel chair from the nurse and asked me if my heart was ok. I nodded and the next thing the wheel chair was on its back wheels and Dr. Grey was charging up the incline with this chariot, me aboard at a good rate of knots to arrive without any sign of breathlessness at the lift. The little nurse came up quite some time later to take me aloft.

Unfortunately I had to go back a week later for tests that revealed a small gastric ulcer that was bleeding. Am being treated with a dreadful drug, Lansoloc, that is apparently  wonderful but the side effect is chronic exhaustion. So I hope my readers will accept my apology for such a long gap of blogs.

Dr Ahmed, the registrar who was dealing with me shook his head while perusing my file. He complained that he could not understand this surname and kept muddling my first name with it. I told him that it was an Irish surname.

The good doctor broke into an Irish accent as genuine as you could find in County Down and said “So you would be knowing all about Saint Paddy then?” I had to laugh and admire his accent! Hospital is not without its amusing moments!

Back to storms. I well remember being caught in a storm amongst giant baobabs in Botswana. I cowered in my little tent becoming very worried as lighting landed nearby. I imagined my new darling 4 x 4 Isabella Isuzu and remembered – yes I am blonde – that she had rubber tyres so translocated myself immediately. Later the next day I was told I had done the right thing!

The next tale is a sailing one. I had a share in a Miura yacht some 32 feet or so designed by Van der Stadt who built yachts to withstand our daunting Cape waters. There was a race up to Saldanha Bay via Lamberts Bay to the North and my skipper Rod White suggested we compete. Now Meerteufel as her name was, was not the fastest afloat but Rod was still put out when Mike Wintle, now sadly gone, brought a case of beer on board for afters. Rod shook his head, being used to the real racing stuff when weight was kept to a minimum.

My daughter Susan and I were the other members of the crew. We set off from I think Cape Town and by the time we passed the Saldanha heads were into a good blow. We ran before the wind with the spinnaker up surfing down the swells while Mike clung onto an unresponding helm but we were relishing the excitement of it all. At around midnight we were off the coast of Lambert’s Bay looking for the buoy around which we had to turn that supposedly had a little red light on top of it.

Out of the maelstrom of the storm came Susan’s voice. “What are we doing in the middle of the night looking for a little red light?” I could not have put it better. However there was the light and we had to go about into the teeth of the storm, pulling down the spinnaker in a flurry of spume and swearing and finally getting the rebellious spinnaker down below while Meerteuful dutifully faced the huge swells beneath her keel. Up she went, down she went, shook herself like a Labrador out of water and took on the next one!

Sometime during the night the storm abated and dawn saw the sea much calmer. We were all on deck when on our port bow appeared a pod of Southern Right Whales. They were if you can call it that, dancing in the dawn, rearing out of the Prussian blue sea, their skins sparkling in the early dawn light and flipping back into the sea with mighty splashes! A sight to remember!

As we turned into the entrance to Saldanha Bay pulling down the sails and switching on the engine I hauled out a bottle of Old Brown sherry well loved by South Africans around the country! Just the thing to warm us up after the cold night.

I had a great friend, Bobby Bongers, who many a yachtsman will recall. Bobby built yachts and dinghys at Zeekoe Vlei. Bobby had departed from the old clinker built hulls and embraced the new method of moulds to turn out dinghy’s such as Finns and the like and was probably one of the first, at least at Zeekoe Vlei, to have a Flying Dutchman that he built himself. He became well known in yachting circles and we met by chance one year at Royal Cape Yacht Club. Bobby told me that he had sailed in the Fastnet Race the year of the terrible storm.

The yachts were racing when the Force 11 storm hit. Bobby said he abandoned the race and got as far away from the coast as he could before heaving to. He and his crew then sat at the radio and heard the true extent of the damage the storm was causing.

So many yachts were in distress that the largest maritime rescue operation in peacetime was launched. The Irish Navy was first on the scene but tankers and other shipping helped as well as all the resources the Uk could muster. The storm lasted three days. Royal Navy Helicopters tried to get yachtsman off their boats while coastguards and other rescue teams did their utmost but 15 yachtsmen died. Later it was found that two yachts survived by getting away from the coast and heaving to, one of which was Bobby’s.

The last time I saw Bobby was at Zeekoe Vlei yacht club’s opening cruise when he happened to be there as his brother Eric, a yachtsman in his own right, was dying. The club was packed and Bobby noticed me looking for a seat. He beckoned me to where he was sitting on a table at the back and helped me up. We embraced but he continued to hold my hand.

Bobby had met a lovely lady, Mia and the two of them were running a B & B near the Hamble in the UK. He turned to me and told me that he remembered our times together and often thought of them. Then he told me that there was something medically wrong and he would not be seeing me again. A lump had to be swallowed before I succumbed to tears but I squeezed his hand back.

I later heard that Eric had died and Bobby had returned to the UK. By now I was travelling Southern Africa and was on the banks of the Zambezi in Livingstone enjoying a Mozi beer. Some tourist had left a Cape Town newspaper on the table and I glanced through it.

There under the obituaries was Bobby’s photo and a write up of his many yachting achievements and his contribution to the sport. I sat there, Mozi in hand remembering the last time I saw him. I looked at the paper and looked at the swift Zambezi flowing to Mozambique and the Indian Ocean and was tempted to throw the paper into it. Somehow I thought that would epitomize Bobby’s journey through life; however pollution came to mind and I tore it up and put it in the waste paper basket to hand.

With a last swallow of beer I left for my appointment to fly the flight of Angels over the Victoria Falls. My companion was an elderly lady and she told me that she had ‘done’ Africa in one day! Well I have been travelling Southern Africa for years and I promise you I have not ‘done’ Africa yet!

Above the mighty falls another memory of Bobby emerged. He had gone on a fishing trip to Bazaruta one year and brought me a shell that he had picked up on the beach that I treasure still. Then I knew nothing about Mozambique or the Bazaruto Archipelogo but have since been to most of those islands.

That brings me to the recent cyclones in Mozambique. Cyclone Idai swept across the flood plain of the Zambezi where it empties itself into the Indian Ocean near Beira causing havoc and many deaths. Well I remember my first visit to Beira. My friend Luis bade me stop along the straight road that led to the city and disappeared into the grass. A short while later he returned brandishing large fresh water prawns for our supper! I looked across the vast grassland that was in fact soaked with the water of the Zambezi flood plain and wondered then what a flood would do to it.

I was amazed by the wide boulevards paved with stones in Beira and research later told me that they were the remains of the broken buildings of Sofala, that legendary City of Gold. Sofala’s history goes well back before the Portuguese for the Arab traders anchored there, sending word to the interior for slaves and gold. The actual anchorage was not good because of sand bars so the new port Beira was situated further north. Sadly Beira has been nearly destroyed by cyclone Idai.

Incidentally my children Mick and Susan’s Grandmother was born and raised there while her father was head of the Union Castle Line for East Africa. Their grandmother was wooed by Greg Joyce and finally married in that beautiful white cathedral in Maputo.

Some years ago my dear Isabella Isuzu took my friends Jenny, Luis and I

North to Pemba. This was before the bridge over the Zambezi was built and we crossed at Caia a little town near where David Livingstone’s wife is buried.  We crossed on a pont and navigated through the myriad detours that were there to enable the constructors to build the new road. A stop on the legendary island of Iha da Mozambique that at one time was the capital of Mozambique and Goa in India! Here we visited the old fort San Sebastian and Luis could not wait to get out off the island for the bad vibes of the people thrown into a pit to die at the fort.

After a long and wearing journey we arrived at Nampula where we aimed to stay the night. We stopped so that Luis could price a B & B and both Jenny and I were bursting at that time. No problem for Jen, she wore a long skirt and stepped out of the car. The next thing I heard a waterfall and it was Jenny calmly relieving herself from beneath the skirt! But then she was a veteran traveler and told me that when she crossed the red sea she clutched her hot-water bottle to her bosom all the time as it was filled with gin!

Ultimately we reached Pemba and here I have to say a very sad farewell to the islands of the Quirimba Achipelego decimated by cyclone Kenneth. All the merchant fleets of the world could anchor in Pemba Bay and there would still be room for more. Mozambique has so many of these deep bays. According to rumour German U-boats sneaked into the bay at night during the second world war to recharge their batteries. The bay is wide open to South Easterly winds and an old harbor pilot said all his grey hairs came from docking ships when this wind was blowing!

We stayed at Russel’s camp outside and along the beach from Pemba We left Luis there with Isabella Isuzu while we visited the islands. First was Medjumbe, low and flat, as the aircraft came in to land I was convinced it would land in the sea! There was an old lighthouse at the point but that is probably gone now. The water is crystal clear and you can see right to the bottom!

Our next stop was Ibo Island. Most of the buildings were derelict with cheeping chickens and goats taking residence. The lodge overlooked the bay and was luxurious. It had been immaculately restored with an inner garden. That evening we dined on the roof of the main building with the setting sun and had large red crab legs for starters. Jenny would not eat them with her fingers so I had two! Their bodies were for the main course. She managed that with a fork! Here is a photo of the lodge after cyclone Kenneth.

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Quilalea means ‘to sleep’, lala in Swahili. This beautiful island sleeps just 55km north of Pemba. The then owners Marjolaine & John Hewlet fell in love with the island and established a marine sanctuary there whilst they started a project of constructing the entire retreat from natural sources. We were there when the owners were absent and were lucky to have the island to ourselves.

The young diving master, a girl who looked as if she should still be in school invited me to swim out to the shelf that dropped just off the beach, some twelve metres. I was very doubtful not having swum any distance for a good few years. However she reassured me that she would be next to me all the way and I could not miss this. Accordingly I managed the distance and was treated to the best snorkel I have ever had! It was amazing with every kind of fish or creature you could imagine beneath me. I felt that if I stretched my hand down I could touch a parrot fish! The return swim was nothing after that.

On our last evening we went on a sunset cruise. Our skipper and his one man crew were a jolly lot and produced a bottle of rum! Now Jen had sailed across the Atlantic and was soon in good voice, standing on the prow singing “Yo Ho Rio! We’re off to the Rio Grande!” This was followed by some raunchy sailors ditties with the crew egging her on.

The bottle of rum was diminishing at a rapid rate and Jen was a trifle unsteady when we landed and bid out jolly crew goodbye! The next morning a light aircraft arrived to take us back to Luis and Isabella Isuzu and the long trek home.

I am sure after these tales you will appreciate how sad I am to know that many of these islands may well never recover. So many memories that I hope will remain in these blogs to tell what it was like.

Amidst it all Jose the Mozambican man who has looked after our property in Tofo has weathered a major hernia operation and is on the mend as am I. Keep checking in because I have a lot of things to write about – so much to catch up including a new novella I hatched up while in hospital called I  May Not Be An Angel . . .!

OF MINING AND SUCH

I was in Zambia writing one of the early guide books that my daughter and I were publishing. My dear friend Diz Bostock was staying with her friends Tony and Ann and she invited me to join them. Their home was on the banks of the Kafue River, a wonderful old colonial style farmhouse with a wide verandah overlooking the river. My bedroom window looked out at the river with the view partially blocked by a very tall tree with a trunk unblemished by the emergence of branches until the very top, where they branched out when it looked as though the tree would reach heaven. Ann called it the Tree to Heaven.

I would sit with my laptop on the verandah writing about my travels and a Samanga monkey would swing from branch to branch on the opposite bank of the river to check t hat I had my nose to the grindstone! Sundays would see us having a leisurely full English breakfast attended by two Great Danes and a Rottweiler who were served exactly what we were eating! One morning Tony asked me if I would like a flight over the Copper belt and I immediately said yes. Only later did he tell me that he had built the little aircraft himself from a kit! However he was a good pilot and the little craft flew happily over the countryside and the town, giving me a birds eye view.

samanga monkey

My last blog led me to think of the Copper belt as a natural follow up from that story. I was fortunate in that Orion Mining offered to sponsor a page in my Inside Zambia guide book about the early mining on the Copper Belt. Copper was the first metal used by man in any quantity and mining began over 6000 years ago in other parts of the world. Early Portuguese writing refers to mines in Zambia in the 14th century. David Livingstone met a caravan with slaves carrying five tons of copper to the coast in 1868.

The first European prospectors found Africans still using old methods of mining and smelting copper. In Shaba an ancient working produced at least 100 000 tons of copper. Smelting was surrounded by secrecy and sorcery, the smelting process believed to be the spirits of the mountain showing their miraculous powers in allowing the rock to pour forth its riches. In 1920 R.R. Sharp and his colleague Raymond Brooks documented the ancient art stage by stage.

In 1962 Ndola Copper Refineries had a stand at the Ndola show where it featured demonstrations of this ancient art. Solidified copper in the shape of a capital ‘I’, a St. Andrews cross or a capital ‘H’ was used as currency throughout South and Central Africa. The early prospectors searched for these ancient mines and most of the modern copper mines originated from them. The copper flower also pointed to the presence of copper; a small blue flower classified as Becium homblei de Wild. Kew gardens found that this plant contains more than 1000 parts of copper per million and the roots up to 4000 parts. In a lot of mine sites the flower correctly indicated the presence of copper.

Tom Davey discovered the lead and zinc deposits at Broken Hill now called Kabwe. This mine had the most interesting minerals in all Zambia with the worldwide reputation of producing beautiful specimens of some 25 different minerals, including lead, zinc, vanadium and copper. When the railway came to Kabwe quarrying began in earnest and the ore was exported to Britain, but the mine was fraught with difficulties and was never a paying proposition. After the Great Depression deeper shafts were sunk and by 1960 Broken Hill had produced 315 000 tons of lead and 625 tons of zinc. The ore eventually ran out and nationalization brought the closure of the mine.

Fired by enthusiasm, Tom Davey asked William Collier and another prospector, J. J. O’Donoghue, to prospect the area around Ndola and Luanshya to look for signs of ancient workings. Collier was walking through the bush on his quest when an old man directed him to the area of the Luanshya stream. Here in a clearing a roan antelope was offering the classic shot. It fell on a patch of grey shale and Bill’s qualified eye spotted green malachite. Adjacent were the ancient workings he had been looking for. The seam he prospected was in a ‘U’ shape and he pegged 50 claims naming one arm of the ‘U’ Roan Antelope and the other Rietbok.

The mining was carried on until they eventually found Bwana Makubwa mine (another story). In 1925 an American engineer Russell J. Parker came to survey the mine and subsequent to his findings William Selkirk arrived in 1926 suggesting a daring program of drilling that revealed the rich vein that gave rise to the Copper Belt of today.

Now I must tell you of Susan, children and my experience buying precious ore. We were trundling over a tortuous pass between South Luangwa and the border into Zimbabwe when we noticed youngsters standing on the side of the road holding rocks from which triangles of amethyst grew. We stopped and haggled, eventually buying a couple that would look good in any display in one’s home. Another youngster was selling what looked like rough rubies in a small plastic container. He would not open the plastic so we took a chance and of course they were fake! The amethysts are still in Susan’s home today, in spite of having gone walkabout when certain guests were staying. However Shaun and Jacques nicked them back on a return visit to these particular guests!

I was in Lusaka when I was shown around a semi-precious gem workshop and bought my one granddaughter Meg a sapphire, a deep red stone that my daughter in law, Maud has today and another purple that Maud is keeping for another granddaughter, Michele. Since then young Neve has appeared so I will have to make a plan for her although at 5 years she firmly believes that the shining ear ring studs in her little ears are diamonds! I think her father will have to rectify that for her 21st birthday!

Writing about the copper belt brings to mind the Chichele Mofu tree that stands in the middle of the dual carriageway between the mining towns of Kitwe and Ndola. The local people believe it to be a house of spirits where the spirit of an ancient chief resides. The tree has been declared an historical monument. At its base is this poem.

Ye who would pass by and raise your hand against me, harken ere you harm me.

I am the heat of your hearth on cold winter nights, the friendly shade screening you from the summer sun and my fruits are refreshing draughts quenching your thirst as you journey on.

I am the beam that holds your house, the board of your table, the bed on which you lie and the timber that builds your boat.

I am the handle of your hoe and the door of your homestead, the wood of your cradle and the shell of your coffin.

I am the gift of God and the friend of man.

Ye who passes by, listen to my prayer . . .

HARM ME NOT.

A TOWN CALLED ZUMBO

My daughter and I own a place in Tofo, Mozambique and during the recent bad weather the thatch blew off the roof. Now our roof could be likened that of an early wooden cathedral, it is so high and to replace the thatch is no easy matter. So my thoughts have been in Mozambique which led to remembering a trip I had to the confluence of the Zambezi and the Luangwa rivers. Here it is that Zambia, Zimbabwe and Mozambique meet. This little corner of our continent has a fascinating history to.

I stayed at Bridge Camp situated just off the Great East Road in Zambia. This was a good few years ago so I don’t know if the camp is still there. I had read a bit about this area so drove down to the town of Luangwa that in fact was originally called Fiera.

There is mention of a settlement called Zumbo in the Fiera district in 1546 that was abandoned in 1600. This was a Jesuit station about two and a half miles up the Zambezi from Fiera on the south bank. On modern maps Zumbo and Tete are about 220 miles apart. The Portuguese arrived here in 1546 and traded in gold ivory and copper as did a small party of Portuguese from Goa, India in 1720 that established a settlement on the small island of Chitakatira in the Zambezi. Francisco Pererir was the leader and earned his sobriquet of “The Terror” but kept the small community together. Eventually they outgrew the island and moved to Zumbo on the left bank of the Luangwa River.

Two different settlements existed at Zumbo and Fiera. In 1726 Father Pedro do Santissima Tridade, a Dominican priest, was installed as the vicar of Zumbo. During the thirty years that he stayed there he acquired the status of a cultural hero among the local population. According to legend he came from Sofala, itself the stuff of legends one being that it was called the city of gold and the Arabs used it as a port from which they travelled to the interior to buy gold, ivory and slaves. Sofala lies South of Beira but has a large sandbank in the entrance so that Beira was built to the north using much of the stone of the old Sofala buildings for its streets.

Father Pedro became famous for his piety and his medicines were still remembered over a hundred years later when David Livingstone passed this way on his trans-Africa journey. Livingstone’s diary of 29th March 1856 reads “Oil of Father Pedros. Received the recipe for curing wounds from Mr. Candido and he calls it Oleo of Frei Pedros.”

From 1730 the main route for ivory trade, slaves, gold, copper and malachite from the north between the Kafue basin in Zambia and the Lunda and Biso country in Mozambique must have been down the Luangwa River to Zumbo and Feira. Glass beads that have been found on the Iron Age sites are likely to have been imports at this time. In the following years Chiefs by the name of Mburuma succeeded one another and one of the chiefs enlisted the aid of Chief Mpuka during an attack. As a reward he granted land along the west bank to Chief Mpuka who had been married to a Portuguese woman, who was killed in the fighting. The people of Chief Mpuka live there to this day.

One can still see the remains of the slave pits where slaves were kept in readiness for transportation onwards. One of the local chiefs, Kanyembo, had ambitions of creating a super race for he would measure his young men against a tree of about 6 ft. If they failed to grow to this height he would sell them to the slavers.

I sat on the opposite bank, in Zimbabwe, on the crumbling walls of the slave pits, tears in my eyes and goose bumps on my arms for the suffering of those who lost their freedom here.

There is a memorial at Fiera that reads as follows:

Fiera Monument

 FIERA

These are records of a 16th century Portuguese settlement here abandoned in 1600. In the early 18th century Portuguese colonialists arrived at Chitakatira Island moving soon afterwards to Zumbo with a subsidiary trading centre (Fiera) here. From 1730 to 1760 both settlements prospered greatly.

In 1745 a church and a convent were built here by Father Pedro Da S Trindade, a Dominican and vicar of Zumbo for 30 years. In 1804 Chief Mburuma 1V of the Senga destroyed Zumbo.

The merchants moved to Fiera but Zumbo was soon reoccupied to be destroyed again. In 1818 both settlements were again rebuilt but from 1826 trade gradually declined until shortly after 1830 when both settlements were abandoned.

In 1856 David Livingstone visited and saw the broken bell of the Mission. In 1887 John Harrison Clark (Changa Changa) set up his headquarters here maintaining law and order in the district.

The Chartered Company built their first boma here in 1902 and the township became an important staging post on the cattle route from Tanganyika to Southern Rhodesia. Its importance declined with the building of the railway.

BWANA CHANGA CHANGA

John_Harrison_Clark
John Harrison Clark

A strange tale indeed. Rumour has it that John Harrison Clark, called Bwana Chang Changa, hailed from the Eastern Province. He was in love with a local girl who was promised to another. The two rivals fought and John shot his rival. Thinking he was dead John fled and wandered north where he landed up at Fiera. He arrived when the local Chief had died with no suitable replacement available. The tribe made John their Chief and called him Changa Changa. He married several of the local ladies and had many offspring. He trained the Senga tribes young men into an army to ward off slave traders while he indeed traded in ivory. He ruled here for some years until visited one day by one of Cecil Rhodes’s young men, Neville Pickering I believe. He was offered land if he would leave the tribe so that Rhodes’s men could develop the area. There is another story about his dealings with the British South African Company but my version is what I dug up in the Archive library in Cape Town.

John headed south and landed up at a mine that was then called Broken Hill now known as Kabwe. Here he became storemaster and ever since the mine storemaster is called Bwana Changa Changa (Bwana meaning Boss). He made history in becoming the owner of the first motor car in Zambia.

I love coming across these forgotten corners of our continent and ferreting out the history. When in Cape Town I visit the South African library and burrow into the old tomes, discovering many tales that Google does not have. The staff there are so helpful and recognize me when I appear every  year or  so. Then I head for the delightful restaurant in the Gardens started so long ago by the Dutch East India company to victual its ships seeking the sea route to the east, with centuries old trees around  me and a glass of wine to hand.

OF AN APRON AND LAKE BANGWEULU

I can’t remember how it was that my great friend Diz and I departed from Lusaka in search of Shoebills, bats and Lake Bangweulu, however we did. Lake Bangweulu is situated in North East Zambia and that is divided by what they call a pedicle that belongs to the DRC.

With the unsettlement there we had to go south before turning north and travel back up the other side of the pedicle. Diz and I have quite a history. It almost prompts me to say Once Upon a Time!

I was living in Atlantis – no not the Atlantis – but a crazy idea by the then Nationalist Apartheid Government to create an industrial and residential site for the coloured population of the Cape well away from Cape Town. It never really worked and still does not. However it was there on our doorstep. We technically lived in Philadelphia (not the one in the States) the actual village of which was quite a way away.

I was on the edge of very real poverty and had some copies of July Fever my novel that was first published in Durban in 1980 to wonderful reviews by the newspaper critics at that time. Flat broke I had the idea of selling copies. I called on this woman that I had heard about that prepared thoroughbred yearlings for the racing stable of a leading owner.

I arrived to find Diz, a large woman, trying to teach a very confused yearling how to go around the lunch ring in a circle without cutting corners, trotting on command, stopping on command. The yearling was not co-operating and Diz who I later discovered was an ardent Christian was swearing like a navy when the yearling did not understand and would then apologize to the Lord above and swear never to swear again until the yearling became yet again confused!

Seeing me she gave up the task and we retired to her little black wooden cottage. I explained what I had to sell and Diz took the monumental decision to buy the book instead of a packet of cigarettes! The only cash she had at the time. Our meeting forged a friendship that took us on many an adventure during which I learnt something of Diz’s life.

Diz was living on the copperbelt in Zambia when the country gained its independence. Her two daughters were still young and she deemed it better for them to move to South Africa. Diz had always been a horse lover and while in Ndola took part in the local show jumping circuit, her eldest daughter Sue doing well in the sport. Arriving in South Africa and settling on a small holding in Philadelphia she progressed to schooling thoroughbred yearling horses for their entrance into the racing stables.

This trip was embarked upon when Diz had returned to Zambia and was living in Kitwe. I was in the country compiling my guide to the country called Inside Zambia and had driven up to visit her.  Diz was keen to go exploring and we took the Great North Road to the Chinese highway and across the large bridge spanning the Luapula River.

We stopped and bought chitenges; lengths of cotton cloth that the women use for skirts or to carry babies on their side like slings at the little shops surrounding the bridge. We could see people walking through the river apparently unafraid of crocodiles. The guard at the bridge told me that the crocs there did not attack here only further north.

The local people of the Luapula region refer to the grinding grooves to be found here as footprints of men who lived here when the rocks were still soft. The first reference was made by David Livingstone in 1874 who recorded that the people of the north shore of Lake Bangweulu identified them as footsteps of God but had no knowledge of their origin.

The best site of these grooves is in Kasamba stream at Kasoma Bangweulu village on the Lake 2 km south of Samfya. The site is a National Monument.

Onward ever onward in all some 260 kilometers and we left the highway turning onto a sandy track with cassava fields and mango trees. Finally we spotted a sign offering accommodation and although this lodge that I had heard about in Livingstone had not yet opened we were made welcome and settled into our little chalet.

So there we were on the shores of Lake Bangweulu! We sat beneath a thatched shelter and watched a lake steamer on its way to the islands when the nodding black heads of bathers in the shallow waters caught our eyes.

Like some distant dream a bevy of beautiful nymphs emerged from the azure lake and made their way to us, sporting only brief panties. They danced for us before dropping down to lie on their tummies giggling and chatting. A couple of them went off to get their craft ware and I bought the embroidered apron that you can see below.

apron 1IMG_2595

We were reluctant to begin the return journey but wanted to visit the village where David Livingstone died some 10 kms from Kasanka National Park and 65 kms from the Great North Road.

We stopped at Kasanka first, famous for the hoards of large fruit bats that fly in each November and December. Nobody knows from whence they come. They arrive in their thousands at the start of the rainy season and their weight as they perch on the branches of the trees causes the branches to break! As the sun begins to set they take to the air and block out the sunset, such are their numbers! We were too early in the year but Susan and I and Shaun saw them a few years later.

The next day we set off to find the village where David Livingstone died. The turnoff was 10 kms north so we had to backtrack but found the track although at a fork we took the wrong turn and arrived at the Chief’s palace that was a brightly painted house. Backtrack again and we were on the right track. Some 25 kms further passing villagers about their day to day business of pounding maize in huge pestles in front of their gaily painted houses.

We arrived at Chipundu School where there was a signpost and we parked the vehicle. An old gentleman approached us to guide us to the monument that was no more than a dozen yards away.

This old man told us that his great great grandfather remembered Livingstone and in fact his heart is not buried beneath the monument but slightly apart where a mupundu tree used to stand and is marked by a simple cross.

The heart was buried here in 1873 by his loyal bearers Susi and Chuma who salted and dried his body and carried it over 1000 miles across incredible terrain through Tanzania to Bagamoyo from whence it was shipped to Zanzibar and then to England where it was buried in Westminster Abbey with full military honours on 18th April 1874.

The tree, feared to be diseased was cut down and transported to the Royal Geographical Society in London. There is however a cross in the Anglican Cathedral in Zanzibar that is said to have been made from the tree. I visited Zanzibar and saw the cross but there is no certainty about that legend.

What a wonderful trip with history every mile of the way!

IMG_2603

 

ON WINNING A WALL HEATER AND MORE

DAWN crept over the Luangwa River in Zambia with fingers of mist lingering upon the river. Hippos were already moving back to the river and the reek of fresh elephant dung wafted past for they had visited our camp during the night. We were camped at the famous Flat Dogs Camp. I had heard the ellies and called out to Jacque and Shaun, the two eldest grandchildren, in their tent to be quiet; the elephants knew we were there and would move on.

My coffee cup was warming my hands and I glanced at our neighbour’s little pup tent. They were still asleep. I noticed a dropping of dung to the right of their door and stooped to see that one elephant had delicately walked over the small guy ropes without disturbing anything!

We were due to leave right now for Lake Malawi but my daughter, Susan, and the younger children were still asleep. I sat at the fire looking over the river and considered what we knew of the journey ahead. We had a tough 4×4 that had brought us along the Chipata road to Mfuwe, the gateway to South Luangwa Park. The road was very rough in those days; I am talking of twenty odd years ago and we would have to go back to Chipata the same way to the border with Malawi.  We had heard that the roads were bad in that country and I was anxious to get going, but there was no hurrying Susan.

We finally left at eleven and so only made the border in the afternoon. Did I say the roads were bad? They were appalling! We crawled along, the children getting very restless, up and down hills never knowing what was in front or around the corner. What intrigued me were the little shops along these remote roads, all selling Coca Cola! What a transport nightmare!

Dusk came. We had no option but to continue to Monkey Bay. We finally arrived in the early hours of the morning, lost. We were bound for Mr. Mahommed’s camp.

The headlights picked up a figure walking along the road and I told Susan to stop. I asked the man if he knew the camp and he nodded vigorously. I asked him to climb up onto the bonnet of the vehicle; there was absolutely no room within the vehicle, and direct us. We duly arrived thanks to our nocturnal helper.

A harvest moon hung over the lake. Pristine golden sand greeted us with an elderly man raking it neatly. We put up our tents and got the children into bed with something to eat, then Susan and I sat and watched the moon over the lake, I with a mug of Tassies, Susan with a stiff gin and tonic! Tassies is a red wine called Tassenberg favoured by students in South Africa for its price! I love it and the grandchildren have many a Tassies tale to tell of our journeys in Southern Africa. Somehow it is readily available in these far flung corners of the continent.

After a brief sleep we were visited by some fishermen who offered us a trip on their boat to one of the islands in the lake to snorkel. They would make us lunch and we packed drinks and sun stuff. The fishermen provided goggles. They pulled into a shallow bay suitable for the young children to swim in. The youngest, Ryan was just four. We fitted him with his goggles and he lay down and looked into the pools at the vivid blue cichlids fascinated. After a little time he lifted his head and looked at me. His face was a joy to behold with excitement as he grinned at me and said “You know Gran Mols, this is the best day of my life!”

We spent a wonderful day, lunched on fish and rice washed down with more Tassies and gin and tonic. Susan and I also enjoyed snorkeling and watching the children as they swam and played after the journey.

A wonderful holiday made up for that daunting journey and we met a missionary and her husband who were having a break from their mission. The woman, whose name I am ashamed to say I have forgotten, took a liking to young Michele who was just six. The two spent hours together with the missionary calling Michele Madam Fifi de Flip Flop! To this day we often call Michele that and smile at the memory.

We finally returned home via Zimbabwe to a freezing winter. I was listening to my favourite radio station when the presenter offered a prize of a wall heater to anyone with a good story. I rang and told the story of Ryan and the best day of his very young life. They loved it and I won my heater! It is still on my wall!